


Suggestions, Myrtle?

by gvarchangel



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvarchangel/pseuds/gvarchangel
Summary: And the third, currently final, Tiny Corvo story I have written. There are plans for future stories, don't worry. But this is the last one I've got written out and looks even remotely like literature. So enjoy the internal ramblings of Corvo debating if he should skin some mercenaries alive!





	Suggestions, Myrtle?

The halfling gives himself another ten minutes to decide if he's staying. Five while his tea brews, five while he drinks it. It's as good of a deadline as any, and the ritual helps him think. There's a reason his pack is never short on tea leaves, legally obtained or otherwise.

Sensing her master's conflict, Myrtle perches herself on his shoulder again. Corvo smiles as he scratches the raven's neck. She doesn't speak in his mind like the others his mask summons, but she doesn't disappear either. It makes her a good companion, someone to bounce ideas off of without getting back talk.

He looks over the rest of the small camp, lifting his mask up so his eyes can scan a little easier. The tiefling, Nalina, is the only professional in the group. She ate quick and is now circling the camp. Her eyes never stay on anything long, always searching the treeline for trouble. She would be the only real threat if he decided to make a break for it. He doesn't feel like getting hunted by a professional who can run on water.

Bounty hunter number two, the tabaxi, is busy playing with his zombies. He enjoys making his creations pretend they have to eat. Those bandits had no idea what their bodies would be used for when they attacked their group. Probably for the best: bad enough they died screaming from Dex's magic fire. He has range with those spells, but he's impulsive, easily distracted. The thief knows he would be a shadow in the trees before the first spell is in the air.

Rounding them out is Stryker. He's so enamored with the story Flynn's weaving, he might not notice if Corvo walked away right now. The bard figured him for the weak link almost instantly and has been using a buddy act to get information out of the human for two weeks. He's the only reason they know they're going to Detmer, to meet a Lord Strikken that has some kind of deal with the squire. No matter how good he is with that bow or magic, his naivety makes him a shitty bounty hunter.

Meanwhile, the bard is doing what he does best: running his mouth. The only other halfling in the group, Flynn can talk all day if he has an audience. At least he knows how to use it for magic in a brawl, and his plans usually work out. Not Corvo's favorite company, but Flynn has more or less earned the thief's loyalty. Working together to kill a Warforged and a Fire Giant will do that.

The only wild card is the paladin. Bayard the Silent is earning his title on the other side of the fire, tending to his sword and shield. In the last two weeks, he's only communicated with nods and looks. Even without words, he's made it obvious he doesn't like the thief and is only here because of some past with Flynn. Corvo's not surprised: he doesn't get along with religious types or rule sticklers. Nothing combines those traits like a paladin. All he needs is to be is a noble, and they're guaranteed to hate each other.

Total score: three bounty hunters of varying competency against, a paladin who's yet to pick a side, and a bard who should be with him. Corvo isn't worried. Escaping should be as easy as it was picking the shackles they insisted on in the beginning.

Corvo mentally checks his plan again as he removes his leaves from his mug. According to the map he stole from the tiefling's pack last night, they should be about the same distance from three different towns. A small one-tavern place to the south, the river port due north, and a large city somewhere west. The city would be the easiest to hide in, and that's where he would make them think he's going. He could make it two or three miles that direction, then cut north to the port. The docks will be too busy to notice a halfling slipping into a boat headed wherever he wants.

The cat makes escaping the camp just as easy. Corvo found a few bottles of acid and alchemist's fire in Dex's pack the other night. Accidents happen, sometimes in the tent the bounty hunters share. All he has to do is wait for Nalina to be checking the perimeter somewhere where she doesn't have eyes on the tent. Open a stopper, lay the bottle on its side, and wait by the tea kettle. His distraction would be ready in moments, give him plenty of time to start a fake trail in the woods.

It's a solid plan, simple. So that's not the issue for the halfling. Not a question of if he can, but if he should.

Corvo adds a spoon of sugar “borrowed” from Stryker's rations to his tea. The silver of his mug catches the raven's eye, and she hops down to his forearm. Her small beak tests the metal once, then twice, before giving up and turning to her master's face again. The thief is quietly thankful his magic companion is a little as she is. A normal raven is larger than a halfling's head.

“The drink tastes better than the cup,” Corvo quietly jokes to the bird. He scratches her again, watching the bird lean into the contact.

The big question is what he would do after losing them. He could wipe his hands of all this. There's plenty of countries he can go to, get away from the Vaults and House Ravenhelm. He could even go back to Galt, continue his raids on the nearly abandoned noble estates, or on the roving mobs burning the country for shits and grins. There is no shortage of money there, no central government to deal with, and very few bounty hunters from Cheliax. If he ever got tired of it, he could always head south to Taldor and start robbing those royal pricks.

Easy answer, but if he's being honest, not the one he would go with. Even without the whole “the world will end if the Vaults are opened” thing, which he doesn't believe, he did promise Flynn he was helping see this through. Half of the original group is gone, and if they've already found a Spectator and a few dozen traps in two Vaults, Flynn's going to need all the help he can get. Not that Corvo enjoys diving into danger, but he's just fond enough of the bard to not want him dead.

There's also the promise of treasure. He's come out like a prince from the last two Vaults, hauling a magic book, his new favorite mask, and at least five hundred loose gold coins. That's not counting all of the goodies he's taken from cultists, bandits, and anyone else who made the mistake of getting in his way. It's the most reliable income he's had in months. Dangerous, sure, but he's finally turning a profit.

“Money's nice,” he whispers to Myrtle. Then he takes his first sip of tea: still a little too warm for a humid day in the forest, but strong and sweet enough to work. “Easier ways to get it, though.”

The raven positions herself closer to his hand and stares at him. Corvo sees the slight swirling magic behind her eyes, the only real reminder Myrtle isn't what she appears. There's intelligence in there as well, like with all ravens. His mother told him stories about how nature is always smarter than civilization gives it credit for. But it'll happily remind them when they forget, either with the animals themselves, or the dryads that dwell within.

“Vaults, or good old thieving?” he asks. “I know you've got an opinion.”

The bird leans in closer, and he swears she turns her beak slightly towards the bard.

“You're overestimating my fondness for Flynn. And doesn't safer pay sound nice?”

She squats down, perfectly balanced on the edge of his hand. Myrtle doesn't blink or flinch as she continues to watch her master.

He laughs a little. “You're in trouble if you shit on me... Come on, is this worth it? There's easier coin outside of those Vaults.”

At the word, “vaults,” the bird is standing again. She gives a slight chirp as acknowledgment.

“What, you think the world's actually going to end if those things come open? Or do you just like Flynn that much?”

Myrtle leans closer to him, specifically his neck. Her beak gently rubs the fresh scar running along his collar bone. The javelin that nicked him just before the Warden caught him. It was a wound that Flynn healed with magic, got him up enough to pour acid on the Warforged's face. One of the easiest moments to point to where the bard had saved him.

He nods slowly, conceding the point. “Fine, he kept me alive. Not like he dragged me into it, or that I've done the same for him.”

The bird makes a show of sitting back down.

“All you've got to say, huh?” He finishes his tea in one quick sip.

His personal deadline has come. With his drink gone, he should've decided one way or the other if he's ditching the hunters. He knows he's close, so he falls back to his other thinking ritual. A dagger from the small of his back slides out of its sheath, barely glinting in the sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nalina stare at him before moving on. She's not a fan of this habit, but knows it's not meant for her neck.

He doesn't even have to look at the blade while he plays with it. His eyes stay on Myrtle, slowly contemplating as his right hand makes the knife dance. Rolling it between his fingers like a coin, small tosses, spinning to switch between grips. His flesh beneath the fingerless gloves show all the scars he earned practicing these tricks until they were as natural as breathing. Now he does it as a way to fidget while his mind processes.

There's no reason to kill them. He wouldn't put it past the cat to give him a reason, considering he's now making his zombies brush him, but not yet. Losing them is more a matter of when than if he can. Staying or going comes with roughly the same amount of risk, at least until the boss gets involved in Detmer. In the end, it's a toss up which would be best in the short term. It's what would happen after that makes the difference.

Quietly becoming a normal (but exceptional) thief again sounds nice. Little boring, but safe. There would still be bounty hunters after him for Cheliax, but Movor's thugs are as inept as Stryker. Could he go back to that? Or would he find himself drawn back to this Ravenhelm and Vault bullshit again? The treasure makes it tempting, and his promises to Lady Raven and Flynn are hard to ignore. Though would only be breaking one vow, considering the former is dead.

The more sentimental side of him wins out and decides to stick with the Vaults. Call it pity for a family almost as damaged as his, or loyalty to a dead woman and a suicidal bard, but he knows that's just as much a motivator as the treasure. He won't lie to himself and pretend it's not. Still, anyone who calls him out on it will have a limp before they finish the sentence.

So... is there any point in escaping? The best case is he scouts the city before Flynn and the others catch up. If any of his contacts in Detmer haven't died of old age or occupational hazards, they're more likely to talk to him than a group. But that leaves him in a country notorious for hanging thieves, and a lot of temptation to start robbing every pretty house he comes across. At least with a group, he can hide in them, let the others draw the guards' attention.

Decision made then. As much as he still hates it, it's better to play along with the bounty hunters and go to meet this Lord Strikken. He'll stick with the plan until then, at least.

A part of him briefly wonders why that bothers him so badly. It's the smart play, sets what passes for his morals at ease, gets him some coin. It should at least make him relax to have decided. Probably something to do with still technically being someone's prisoner... He buries the thought as deep as he can. The answer to his question lies somewhere in the memories of Cheliax, of the bad old days with whips, chains, piss poor excuse for food, and dead family. It's not somewhere he wants to spend any more time in than he has to.

Settling down with his choice, he refills his mug with the kettle's still hot water. He chooses a spiced tea this time, one from Nalina's kit. She has good taste, even if she did break several of his ribs the first time they met. He sets the cup to the side to brew, then resumes playing with his knife. It's more to calm him than to think. He's already done enough of that for lunch.

Myrtle stands again on his hand, looking back with those intelligent, swirling eyes. She stays silent this time.

“You won, alright?” he admits quietly. “We're staying, Em. Quit fussing.”

She seems to settle, just standing and watching instead of staring him down.

“Tell your brothers to be ready. I get the feeling we're going to need the backup.”

No chirp or obvious movement this time. But he swears she understands the message. Might even be passing it on to the other ravens, considering how little he understands the “pets” his mask summons. He's sure they'll tell him when they're out again.

Flynn seems to have ended his story. He gives his human listener a handshake, then starts walking towards Corvo. The damned bard is good at reading people, probably already realized there's something on his companion's mind.

So the thief does what he usually does. With one sigh, he summons his normal aura of sarcastic indifference. Even he almost forgets the thoughts that were plaguing him a moment ago.

“Remembering a merc from years ago, one of those tibbit things,” he announces to the bard, still looking at Myrtle. “Liked to freeze people solid, including a bar keep who was letting me stay at his place. I skinned the little bastard, turned him into a nice scarf. Was wondering how much I could get from Fluffy over there if I did the same. Can't decide if he's big enough to be a blanket or not.”

Flynn gives an uneasy smile, the kind that comes when he doesn't know how else to react. Corvo allows a small grin as he successfully lies to his companion. He would rather be thought of as a psychopath than disloyal. Especially by someone he almost considers a friend.


End file.
